Ashes To Ashes Books 1-3: Ashes To Ashes

By Rowena Holloway

Will her big break become her biggest mistake?

The Ashes To Ashes series, books 1-3

Book 1: Bad Things Happen
Charlotte Ashe is desperate to get out of her light-relief gig as TVWE's 'weather babe'. When an elite footballer hands her a scoop that could make her career, she never expects it to lead into danger.

Book 2: Less You Know
Allie's great with secrets. She's guarded her own well. But when Charlotte Ashe asks for her help to expose a corrupt developer the only secrets threatened with exposure are her own—and the consequences could be deadly.

Book 3: From The Ashes
Tyrone Garner has many secrets, but the only one that matters is about to be exposed. When Charlotte Ashe goes missing at the scene of a devastating fire, he must decide which is more dangerous—exposing the truth or burying it deeper?

Grab the complete series in one elegant box set and get lost in the suspense.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rowena Holloway
• Release date: Jan 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648205234

Rowena Holloway

Rowena and Joyce are sisters in Christ who have been friends for 20 years. Both are active in their church family. Rowena has the gift of preaching and Joyce has the gift of church hospitality. They recently published Pray it Forward: Spiritual Growth Meditation. They relocated to Hawaii through prayer.

Book preview

Ashes to Ashes Series

Books 1-3

Rowena Holloway

Fractured Press, Adelaide Fractured Press, Adelaide

Contents

Bad Things Happen

Copyright

JOEY

PART 1: THE SCOOP

PART 2: THE UGLY TRUTH

PART 3: THE BEGINNING OF THE END

Epilogue

Less You Know

Copyright

ALLIE

PART 1: THE FIRST 24

PART 2:THE NEXT 24

PART 3: THE FINAL 24

PART 4: THE LESS YOU KNOW

Epilogue

From The Ashes

Copyright

CHARLOTTE

PART 1: IN THEIR SIGHTS

PART 2: THORN IN MY SIDE

PART 3: THE PRICE OF VENGEANCE

PART 4: ALL YOUR SECRETS

PART 5: AFTER THE FIRE

PART 6: FROM THE ASHES

Epilogue

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS BY ROWENA HOLLOWAY

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Bad Things Happen

Ashes To Ashes Book # 1

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Fractured Press Pty Ltd and Rowena Holloway

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

This edition uses Australian spellings as defined by the Maquarie Dictionary (2016)

For Claire,

You may be gone from this world, dear friend, but you are still in my heart and my life is richer for having had you in it.

(As you can see, I didn’t give up.)

JOEY

THE END

Streets of London

Saturday, July 29th 2 am

Today is the worst day of my whole freaking life! And it’s all because of two simple words.

Loyalty and Truth. Our team motto. Got it on the clubroom walls and stitched onto our uniforms. The boss is always on about it. ‘If you ever doubt who we are lads, always fall back on the team motto. That’s what Laughton FC stand for. That’s how the Raider’s roll. Am I right lads?’  That’s part of every training session, every pre-game psyche-up. He even has it in gold lettering on the wall behind his desk. Well, here’s a truth for you: there is no loyalty. Doesn’t matter how many walls or uniforms you stick it on, how much lip service it gets, if you don’t support a bloke when he’s down then there’s no loyalty.

My wipers barely make a difference to the rain blurring my windscreen, but this isn’t the time for safe driving. Headlights are close behind. Too close. Right on my tail. If they catch me… I peer ahead and floor my Audi R8.

Ask anyone what happened and they’ll tell you I’m the one with no loyalty. Not to the team. Not to my best mate. Not to my girl. All about perspective, innit?

Red lights. An intersection. Shit. I can’t stop now. I gun it, see headlights on my right, the blur of colour as a car shoots past. I swerve. Someone clips my rear. The Audi slides sideways. I get it under control and keep going.

I tried to reason with the boss, to explain. His grim face was about as open to reason as the little Hitler at the DVLA. ‘Don’t lie to me, Joey, it’s all there in your blood work.’ Was a time when I believed Tyrone Garner was a god. After this morning—Jesus, was it only this morning?—when he brushed off my denials like bird shit off his sleeve, well, that was the end of my hero worship.

More lights. A sharpish turn coming up. Left. I have to get into the left lane. A dithering Fiat is in the way. I gun the engine. Speed past. A motorbike cuts me off. I touch the brake and swerve. The backend goes wide, clips a set of traffic lights. I overcorrect. Bounce across the traffic island. A horn blares. Headlights come straight for me. Shit. Shit. I’m going the wrong way on a one-way road. I swerve left, almost losing control on the slick tarmac. The rear bumper clips the footpath railing, but I push the car forward, around the turn, and finally slide into the correct lane of the A1210.

Yep, worse day of my entire life. All because I believed in that motto: loyalty and truth.

Loyalty is for losers.

And truth? Yeah, well, the truth is I got caught up in something bad. Something deadly. My pathetic efforts to get out made everything worse, put everyone in danger and threatened everything we’d worked hard to achieve.

It doesn’t matter that I’d been dragged into it. I’m in. With no way out. Nowhere to turn. And now I’m racing through the slick London streets with no freaking idea where I’m headed.

If only Garner had heard me out…

Light bounces off the wet road. A lorry speeds past, going the other way. I get a windscreen of muddy water. Oncoming headlights blur, merge with the street lights and the brake lights ahead.

Brake lights. Shit.

I use my gears, touch the brakes, peer through the rain-blurred windscreen for a gap in traffic and spot the Medieval castellations. Of course! I’m on the Tower Bridge approach. Just have to cross the bridge and find sanctuary. Maybe forgiveness. The R8 growls as I push her harder.

When the boss refused to believe me, I’d slammed out of his office and barged up to the Eye on London weather girl who was there doing a good-news story on the Raiders. Yeah, I know, a weather babe isn’t exactly who’d you go to with a story like mine, but she was there and I had a hot story and a temper to match.

I dodge a Ford Transit, speed past a BMW X5, and make it onto the bridge. In the heavy traffic, I can’t tell who’s on my tail. Friend or enemy? Friends? Not too many of them left. I keep my foot planted. The world whips past as I weave through sedans, SUVs, and delivery vans. The night is a blur of haloed lights and velvet black. Kind of like my life; all the beauty gone before I’ve had time to appreciate it.

All because I believed in loyalty and truth.

Because I’d thought a way out was to talk to the press.

Because I was convinced if I turned up the pressure I could save everyone.

Loyalty and truth? No freaking way. There is no loyalty. And in this life there is only one truth.

Everybody lies.

PART 1: THE SCOOP

1

JOEY

Office of Tyrone Garner

Debden Park Training Grounds

Friday, July 28th 

The plan had been simple. The major weakness was doing it on the sly. If anyone found out, it’d be over before it began.

I tapped on Garner’s door and when he didn’t answer went in. The place was deserted. That kind of surprised me. He was usually in by now. Today was a big promotional day for the club and the boss was pretty uptight about how things ran. Maybe he was off wrangling the youngsters or giving Declan last minute instructions. Maybe he’d just slept in.

Nah. One thing I knew for sure was that Tyrone Garner never did anything that mundane.

My hands shook as I closed the door. Most likely lack of sleep. Could’ve used a bit more shut-eye. Kayleigh complained that I kept her awake mumbling in my sleep and tossing and turning, but these days she complained about everything. According to her I couldn’t do a thing right. Well, I was about to prove her wrong. Prove them all wrong. The boss was going to admit he’d fucked up my tests, put me back on the team and help me regain my sponsors—no one wanted to back a player who wasn’t playing—but if the boss didn’t step up, well, then I’d have to follow through with the plan. First, I had to find leverage.

The carpet was so thick I didn’t make a sound as I moved toward the desk dominating the space in front of the window. The high-backed, ergonomic leather chair looked more comfortable than my twenty-thousand-pound couch. Then again, the way Garner had decked out the club, this chair could well be worth that. I couldn’t resist trying it out. Comfy. It smelled expensive. Embraced by that buttery leather behind that huge desk gave me a sense of what it was like to be Garner, to watch us all troop into his office with requests or explanations. The power of it surrounded by evidence of Garner’s past glory hanging on every stark white wall, well, I’ve got to admit it was pretty fucking sweet.

But I didn’t have time to dick around. If I was doing this, now was my best chance.

Everyone was in early for the public relations stunt with TVWE. The lads were well excited about the weather babe, Charlotte Ashe, turning up here in the flesh. It was a standing joke in the locker room how well informed the lads were about the weather. Everyone had it bad for the weather babe. I wasn’t worried about the lads missing me while she was around. As long as I turned up for the bits to camera no one was going to give a toss about where I was in between.

The clock above the door clicked over to 7.15. I was due back on the pitch for a group appearance at 7.30.

Weird that the boss wasn’t in already. Maybe he was down there with the little kids, who were due to give a bit of a show after Declan talked up the club. I glanced out the window, keeping back so no one would see me up here, as unlikely as that was in a second storey window. I watched everyone milling about, the little league getting last-minute instruction, all of the parents antsy and on a high because their kids would be on TV. Couldn’t see the boss or Lucinda, who followed him everywhere juggling two mobiles and an iPad.

If they weren’t on the field it meant either of them could burst in any minute. I got to work rifling the drawers and sifting through paperwork looking for the information Dimitri wanted so badly he was willing to lop off a few of my body parts if I failed.

On the desk was Garner’s laptop and a set of rolled up papers. I smoothed out the papers. Architect plans. Some new housing estate he was working on. Blaxon Estate. Looked like a lot of small townhouses with that fake Tudor cladding they all liked around here. Nice, I suppose. Never heard of this development though. There was a Blaxon Hall somewhere nearby. An old manor they had made into some kind of institution or clinic.

The laptop was worth checking. Might even find something to explain why Garner was so convinced I was using. Failing that, there might be something that would help me get back on the playing team. The boss had taught me two golden rules about negotiating. One: never go into a meeting without knowing what you want to get out of it. Two: make sure you’ve got leverage to make what you want happen. I opened the laptop and moved the mouse. The screen came to life with the email window open. It wasn’t like Garner not to password-protect his files, and it might mean that he wasn’t too far away. But, hey, gift horse, mouth. I wasn’t going to question why.

A quick scan of the folders yielded nothing, so I glanced through the email messages. Then one subject header caught my eye: Blaxon Estates. Tempting. Very tempting, but the clock now said 7.20 and I couldn’t waste any more time. Then the email pinged. I nearly fell off the chair. Re: Blaxon Estates.

I had to look. Couldn’t open the one that had just arrived. Garner would notice that. I clicked on the one below, which had already been opened.

RE: Blaxon Estates

Ty, I understand your concerns, but as your financial adviser, as your friend, I must reiterate that spreading yourself so thin has left you vulnerable. You need to reconsider our proposed strategy. With so much at stake it is your only workable solution.

Give me a call when you get this.

Cheers

Reg.

Spread himself thin, hey? Well, I could understand that. Never really thought about how he’d funded our rise from nobodies to our current status as the team to watch.

Debden Park was a massive improvement on the rented rooms we’d used when Laughton barely rated at division level. Garner had poured everything he had into us. He was owner and player manager—did I mention he likes to be in control?—with a PA and an assistant player manager, a physio, head of sports science, performance analyst as well as two dedicated trainers in the gym. Us lads, we all loved it at Debden Park: we had a pool, games room, lunch room that was better than some Soho food joints; we saved on gym fees, had 24/7 access to trainers and sports psychology. Most important of all, we had privacy. See, everyone wants a piece of you if you’re halfway famous. An ad campaign here, a charity guest appearance there, and suddenly you’re London’s most eligible. And our club, Laughton FC, The Raiders, was only Championship League. Imagine the fuss for the Premier blokes.

That’s where Garner saw us heading—to the Premier League.

We’d all wanted it. In a way, it’s how I ended up here, looking for leverage against the bloke who’d pretty much made my career.

Made it and just about destroyed it.

Garner deserved the trouble coming his way. He was a big man. He was good at handling trouble.

Time had ticked past. It was now 7.26.  I was due on the field for the stupid bit to camera, and as much as I wanted a look at those emails, I still hadn’t found what I needed.

A quick check of the drawers and I came up lucky. A list of account numbers. Just as Dimitri had said I’d find. But if I pocketed the paperwork Garner would get wise, and if he knew I’d taken it I had no chance of getting what I wanted, no matter what I thought I could expose.

I needed a copy. The photocopier was in Lucinda’s office just outside. Couldn’t risk that. Not without knowing where the boss was or when he’d be back. And Lucinda could be anywhere. That girl was like a ghost, always appearing when you least expected it.

My phone. Of course. I snatched it from my pocket and snapped a few pics. Voices. The office door opened wide.

‘Enjoying my chair, Joey?’

2

CHARLOTTE

TVWE Offices

Southbank

Friday, July 28th

Charlotte opened her mouth to argue, and then shut it. So much for getting ‘good job’ from her boss. Despite the situation, she was impressed by his passion.

‘A nudie run! On morning television. Have you lost your mind?’ Piers Hightower, six feet of fury wrapped in a hand-tailored suit, pounded his fist so hard on the desk it sounded like a gunshot. ‘For God’s sake What the hell were you thinking, Ashe?’

‘You told me to put more Aussie flavour into my reports.’

‘I never told you to go that far.’

‘It was all in fun. You couldn’t see anything.’

‘That’s not the point. Eye on London is a morning show. What if the kids had still been present? And you— For God’s sake!’

‘I didn’t strip off.’

‘It looked like— If Tam hadn’t cut away—’ He brushed his fingers through his usually well-groomed hair. ‘Don’t you want to be taken seriously as a reporter?’

Well that was a stupid question. That was the whole reason she was sitting here putting up with the tirade, though she had to admit Piers looked gorgeous with his blood up. She could not let her thoughts wander there. Not today. Not when she had a story this good land in her lap. If she didn’t tell him now she’d burst, a piñata spewing treasures all over the office floor.

‘Piers, I’ve got a story. A big one.’

‘Are you even listening? You crossed a line today.’

‘Oh, come on. A few football hero bums? Viewers loved it. We’re trending on Twitter.’ She held up her phone with the open app and some of her elation escaped into laughter. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that.’

‘Is this funny to you?’

‘Well, yes. Hilarious. The boys thought so too. And the crowd.’

‘Haven’t you learned anything in three years? Perception is reality. People will start claiming they saw you running naked around the pristine training grounds of Laughton FC. As charming as that image is, before nightfall they’ll be saying it was an all-out orgy.’

‘That’s a bit melodramatic.’ But Piers was right. Perception was reality and there were plenty who’d want to spin this into something dirty and crude, to use it as evidence that the ring-in Aussie bimbo wasn’t even fit for reporting the weather. All she’d wanted was a bit of a laugh, a bit of shock value to keep the fans entertained. Crap. She’d just got what was possibly the biggest lead of her career and she’d already screwed up with that nudie run idea.

Still, it wasn’t a total loss. At least Piers had admitted he enjoyed seeing her naked.

‘I’ve got a real story, Piers. Joey Baptiste hinted at trouble at the club.’

‘Hinted? A benched footy player with more muscle than brains throws you a bit of gossip and you think it’s enough to overcome that… that spectacle?’

‘There’s something there. I know it. How many property developers can you name who have weathered the financial crisis better than Tyrone Garner? Aren’t you curious? Aren’t you intrigued to look at why he’s impervious?’

‘Do you expect me to take some half-baked theory—or whatever you have—to Sir Douglas after that fiasco? Careers have been ruined over less. How do you think that makes us look, Charlotte?’

‘Us?’ Was he finally admitting there was more between them than the casual hook-ups? The flash of panic in his eyes dashed those hopes. Of course ‘us’ didn’t mean a relationship. She didn’t want that anyway. Not really. Relationships were the fastest way to stunt her career. ‘You mean TVWE.’

‘Eye on London is a family show. It’s rating does not allow for a bunch of bare-arsed footballers streaking across a footy pitch. How am I going to explain this to Sir Doug?’

Sir Douglas. Of course that was all that concerned him. Sir Douglas, and Piers Hightower’s goddamn precious career. ‘There I was believing you were thinking about me.’

‘I am thinking about you.’ Piers glanced at the office door his bitchy secretary had oh-so-thoughtfully left ajar and lowered his voice. ‘I think about you too much, Charlotte.’

She saw the truth in his eyes and wanted to reach out and smooth away the deepening line between his brows. ‘What do you think about—besides me running around naked?’

Piers shook his head and once again brushed his hair off his forehead. God, she was a sucker for his thick, soft hair. Loved running her hands through it. Loved the way it looked all messed up in the morning light. Today the sunlight picked up the golden threads among the brown and burnished the stubble on his chin. Stubble. Huh. It wasn’t like him to come to work unshaven. What had he been doing so late last night that he hadn’t had time for a morning shave? Oh, hell no. She wasn’t letting her thoughts go down that road. If she wanted this assignment—a real story—she had to bring her A game.

‘With stunts like that no-one’s going to take you seriously as a journalist.’

‘No one ever takes me seriously. That’s the problem. I’ve been stuck in weather for three years. I want more. I can do more.’

Piers dropped his gaze and shuffled the papers on his desk. ‘When the right story comes along—’

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. One has come along. Joey Baptiste. The Raiders. Garner Developments.’ She perched her hip on the edge of his desk. For someone in her position it was awfully familiar, but it got her close enough to smell his aftershave and it’d wind up Alice, the bitchy secretary, no end. ‘Aren’t you at least curious?’

He looked at her then, a deep, piercing look as if he could see right to her core. They’d been naked together many times, but this was the first time she felt truly exposed, as if every flaw were spot lit. ‘If you do have a lead, you need to take it to the meeting. Put it to the team.’

Piers tapped his pen against the paperwork and began to go through it as though he were already alone. Charlotte watched him signing his name to various documents, heard the scratch of the ballpoint as it flowed across the paper, saw the gentle movement of his perfectly-fitted jacket as he breathed. For the first time since that Christmas party where she’d fallen under his spell, she felt like a stranger. A slant of sunlight fell across his desk. The pen scratched. Beyond the door life went on as usual: Alice denying someone taxi vouchers; laughter as a couple of colleagues shared a sexist joke; the hum of a printer in the next room.

It had always amazed her how Piers could flip his passion on and off like a light switch, but this was different. This was more like disinterest, disappointment. Punishment. She’d always known her tiny dreams didn’t matter to anyone, but she had thought Piers at least respected her ambition.

She watched his hand moving down the page, noted the light grip of his elegant fingers on the gilded pen, thought of those same fingers, his hands, on her skin, and the way he always kissed her lips and then her neck, breathing her in as if he couldn’t get enough. But that was sex. When it came to the job, she didn’t rate. If she had any real pride, she’d end it. Whatever it was. Gather the dregs of her self-respect and leave this going-nowhere-job and matching love-life. Yet how could she walk away when the thought of those long nights without him, never seeing him at work, no more stolen kisses, sometimes more when they were alone in the office, was agony? She wondered what he’d do if she threw herself across his lap and promised to be a good girl if he’d just give her a chance.

Pathetic. That’s what she was. When had she become the type of woman who begged her man for forgiveness just because he threatened to withdraw his affection? She pictured the woman who’d given birth to her—because that was about the only connection they still had—sculptured, manicured, and so desperate for her husband’s approval that every inevitable infidelity sent her back to the plastic surgeon.

Seven years and half a world away and she’d still turned into her mother.

Like hell! She straightened her shoulders and rallied the strength that had got her through worse. ‘Put it to the team, Piers? That’s your advice? You know that Sadiq will never let me float an investigative story, let alone take the lead.’

‘It’s not my job to tell Sadiq what stories he should run.’

‘You’ve vetoed stories before. Why not champion one?’

‘I can’t show favours, Charlotte.’ He glanced at the partially open office door. ‘You understand.’

She knew his reasons. Up to a point, she accepted them. It didn’t mean she understood. After their Christmas hook-up Piers had made it quite clear both their careers would be jeopardized by public displays of affection. It was only much later she came to know of the strange relationship he had with Sir Douglas’s daughter and how entwined that woman was with his career. By then she was already in too deep. And what he’d offered suited her: a relationship that wasn’t a relationship, friends with an extra order of benefits.

Recently, she had come to realise their arrangement was very light on the friendship part of the deal.

‘I can do this with you or without you, Piers. I’d rather do it with your blessing.’

Piers put down his gold-plated pen and steepled his fingers. It was a posture he’d copied from Sir Douglas and Charlotte wanted to thump him, but a smile hovered on his lips. That smile gave her hope. ‘You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me.’

‘Sixty seconds; I’ve got two possible roads of inquiry.’

‘Forty-five.’

Forty-five seconds. Okay, she could do this. On the drive back from Laughton FC she’d done nothing but think of ways to present her case.

‘Forty seconds.’ Piers’s smile deepened.

Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘Option one: elite sportsman, failed two drugs tests, positive for banned substances, claims he’s clean.’

‘Unless he’s bigger than Lance Armstrong, nothing new there.’

‘Option two: ex-elite sportsman now a developer and limelight hog. Suspiciously able to avoid any fallout from the financial crisis, claims to put all profits back into his affordable housing scheme and yet over the last two years has built a state-of-the-art training ground, is in negotiations to build a new stadium, and paid through the nose for a European league player to up their chances of the Premier League.’

‘Fraud’s not new. Dodgy developers aren’t new. Might be possibilities in the footy angle. Something other than drugs and dodgy managers. There’s only one problem.’

‘Don’t you dare tell me it’s my lack of experience, because you know I exposed a white-collar crime in Manchester.’

‘Garner’s untouchable.’

‘No one’s untouchable.’

‘He has deep pockets and contacts in high places. Add in low morals and you get the trifecta.’

‘You think he has low morals?’

‘When it comes to a local hero like Ty Garner, I don’t think anything.’

‘That sneer would suggest otherwise.’ It was the first time in a long time that she and Piers had discussed the job. It felt great. ‘So, it’s conceivable he’s doing something like using his development company, maybe even the team, to launder money.’

‘That is a hell of a leap. Just what did your source tell you?’

Joey hadn’t actually told her anything. One of the players had said they’d seen him going to Garner’s office and later Joey had charged up to her, barely able to see past his rage, and offered to give her information that might endanger the club. Yeah, it was a leap, but if she took it she was pretty sure of sticking the landing. ‘But you think it’s conceivable—money laundering?’

‘He wouldn’t be the first, last or only developer to do so. You need to be careful throwing accusations like that around without irrefutable proof. Remember, everyone looks dirty if you look hard enough.’ He gave her another piercing look. ‘We’ve all got our secrets.’

Charlotte fought to hold his gaze. Telling him why she would never return to Australia had seemed a good idea at the time. A way to show him she trusted him. A way to deepen their connection. Had she been wrong to trust him?

‘You think my past makes me vulnerable?’

Piers went back to signing documents. ‘I’m just saying Garner isn’t the kind of man you want to back into a corner.’

‘Isn’t it our job to back the bad guys into a corner? It’s our job to get to the truth. No matter the cost to ourselves.’

‘That’s a rather naïve view. I’ve always admired your idealism, Charlotte, but you’ve been in the job long enough to know that’s not how it works.’

‘How it works is that you think I won’t be able to handle someone like Garner because I’m just the weather bimbo. Good for a laugh. As long as that laugh is within limits.’

She couldn’t help the bitterness. Three years she’d been working to get out of weather and into the job she’d been promised when TVWE had headhunted her away from Manchester and Maddie Alderton’s support. Sure, she was one of TVWE’s most popular presenters, and she had a knack for getting people to reveal themselves—and no, she didn’t mean naked footy players, although that had been a perk—yet she was pigeon-holed as the light relief, perpetually tagged ‘the weather bimbo’. When she died, her eulogy would probably begin ‘Favourite weather bimbo, Charlotte Ashe…’

Piers looked like she’d kicked him in the stomach. ‘It’s not that I think you can’t do it, Charlotte. I’m just saying that if you go after a man like Garner you’d better be confident of your sources. You’re going to need people at your back—equipment, expenses, lawyers. In other words, TVWE resources. To get those you need the whole team behind you. You need Sir Doug’s backing.’

‘If I take this to the editorial meeting Sadiq will either laugh in my face or hand it off to Robertson. This is mine, Piers. The source gave this lead to me. They trust me.’ Although she wasn’t entirely sure Joey Baptiste would have approached her at all if she hadn’t been in the right place at the right time.

Piers tapped his pen on the blotter. With every dull thud the pen caught the sun and flashed gold. ‘How reliable is your source?’

She recalled Joey’s twitchy legs, the fading black eye, the way his gaze never settled on anything for very long and how he’d freaked out about her being followed. There was no need to tell Piers everything. Not yet. Not when there was a possibility of this being her big break.

‘Very reliable.’ It was only a little lie.

‘You’ll need an on-camera interview and some proof other than hearsay.’

Did she just hear that right? Was Piers about to green-light her first piece of investigative journalism for TVWE?

‘Are you saying you’ll champion this with Sir Doug? Are you saying yes? Because it sounds like you’re saying yes. Please tell me it’s a yes.’

Piers chuckled. ‘Steady on. It’s not like I just agreed to marry you.’

‘Don’t worry, I know the score.’ Bitterness twisted her smile.

‘Charlotte, you know why. We have to play by Sir Douglas’s rules.’

‘Rules that involve Verity.’

He glanced at the partially open office door. ‘It’s not forever. Things will change soon. I promise.’

‘Yeah. They will.’

It was hard to be constantly reminded she came second—second to a spoiled rich girl, second to his career, second to every other goddamn reporter in the building. Well, the only way she was going to come first was to put herself there. And that meant pursuing a proper investigative piece of journalism.

‘So, have you got my back on this story?’ Still perched on the desk, she faked nonchalance, swinging one leg forward and back as she waited for his reply. Piers had always liked her legs.

‘Come back with more information and your source’s agreement for an on-camera interview,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll talk.’

It wasn’t a yes. Not quite. But it was closer to a real story than she’d been since she took this job. London was supposed to have been her big chance. So far it seemed to be taking her backwards. ‘How about we get together at my place tomorrow night to—’ she sketched air quotes ‘—talk about it?’

He looked up and shook his head. ‘Not while Verity is in town.’

‘You said that whole Verity thing was just for show. To keep the old man happy. You said she agreed that’s all it was.’

‘She did. She does. It’s just—’ He turned his head toward the window and sighed.

‘Just what?’

‘I’m not sure she isn’t playing her own game, and right now I’m stuck in the middle. I don’t want you stuck there, too.’

As unappealing as the idea was to be stuck in anything with Verity Douglas, it was better than being constantly kept on the outside. ‘Am I supposed to just hang around waiting for Verity’s crumbs?’

‘Crumbs?’ Piers raised his eyebrows and grinned. ‘Are you jealous?’

‘Of her? Not a chance.’ Another lie. Verity was everything Charlotte was not. Willowy, blonde and wealthy, Verity wore high fashion with ease, holidayed in exotic places with minor royalty and never had to seek approval from anyone. Worse, she had Piers at her side whenever she called. ‘Just wondering if I’d be better off trying the buffet instead of waiting for àla carte.’

‘You know à la carte is worth waiting for.’

‘Everyone has a tipping point, Piers. I’m getting close to mine.’

‘Charlotte, come on. I told you it means nothing, and it’s not for much longer.’

She wanted to believe him, but he’d been telling her a version of that story for months. Sometimes she wasn’t sure why it mattered. It wasn’t as if she expected a full commitment. Neither of them had time for that. Yet being the youngest of four girls she’d spent her childhood receiving hand-me-downs, fighting for something of her own. She certainly didn’t want any of Verity’s cast-offs. Perhaps it was time to remind him what he’d be missing while he was with Princess Verity. Verity may be everything she wasn’t. But it went the other way, too.

Charlotte leaned forward. Piers’s gaze dropped to the molded contours of her shirt and the hint of soft flesh he could never resist.

‘Don’t leave it too long,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a healthy appetite and I’m not going to go hungry much longer.’

As she turned away, Piers cleared his throat. ‘Charlotte.’

She turned back, waiting for him to relent and agree to see her tomorrow night.

‘Be careful,’ he said. ‘Garner doesn’t like people in his business, and he doesn’t play nice.’

3

JOEY

Office of Tyrone Garner

Debden Park Training Ground

Friday, July 28th

When I looked up to find Garner standing in the doorway of his office, I nearly bottled it.

He’d been for his morning cycle and wore the full gear and had his mountain bike resting on his shoulder. You hear jokes about middle aged men and Lycra—all the gear, no idea—but that didn’t apply to Tyrone Garner. Where most ex-players let themselves go a bit, this bloke was still built like an athlete. I must have been staring because he raised his eyebrow and did his lopsided Harrison Ford grin.

‘You thinking of taking over, Joey?’

Shit. I had the investor details laid flat on the desk and my phone in my hand. Only one way out of this. I swivelled in the chair and grinned. ‘Nice chair. You reckon I can have one of these?’

‘Get an office and a club and a solid reputation and let’s see.’

He hooked his thumb to tell me to hop it, and while he turned to the closet to stow his gear, I slipped the list of account numbers beneath a file labelled Player Marketing. He hung his bike on a bracket in the closet. If he knew what I’d just done he’d probably do the same to me, only I’d be hanging by my balls. He could be a hard bastard. A charming, hard bastard, who was easy to like. If there’d been any other way, I wouldn’t have even considered betraying my mates and everything I’d ever valued in my life.

‘There a reason you’re here, Joey?’

‘Yeah, see, it’s about that reputation. I want you to retest me.

‘Christ, not this again.’

He sat at his desk, checked his email and frowned. Could he tell I’d been reading it? Had I left that last email open? I tried not to let my panic show as he planted his elbows on the desk and pinned me with those steel grey eyes.

‘I suppose it doesn’t matter if you miss the next to-air piece,’ he said. ‘Just don’t forget how important that kind of promotion is to the club and our sponsors.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Have at it then. You’ve got five minutes to make your case.’

He looked at me with that impatient glint he’d been showing me lately. Last time I’d been in his office he’d made it clear I’d let him down, said I squandered our friendship and all the effort he’d put into my career.

Everything I’d rehearsed last night and on the drive in from Brentwood died on my tongue.

When I didn’t speak straight away he laid it all out for me again, how it wasn’t just my life I had to think about, it was the lads’, the club’s. And the whole time his little speech was accompanied by that bloody stare. The need to escape to my R8 and roar away from him, from the club, from everything that was doing my head in, made me jumpy. To hide the jitters chasing up and down my legs I started pacing. Garner watched me, his mouth grim. I knew what he was thinking. He was so sure he was right about me being a junkie that he couldn’t see past his own nose.

‘Just tell me why, mate.’ He leaned back in his chair, frowning, the tips of his fingers pressed together like a kind of prayer. ‘We go out of our way to ensure that all you lads know what medications are on the banned list. And performance enhancers? Joey, where’s your head at? What is so much more important to you than your career? What is more important than the team you’ve put your life into? We are so close to the Premier League you must be able to taste it, yet you’d jeopardise that. For what?’

In my pocket my phone felt extra heavy, as if it carried the weight of my guilt along with photos of those account numbers. I’d planned to tell him about Paulie and Dimitri. So he’d understand. Give me another chance. So he’d be prepared for the evil about to come his way. But with him staring at me with all that disappointment, all that judgement, I couldn’t say a word.

Garner stifled a sigh and leaned back in his fancy chair. ‘You’ve put the whole team at risk. You could at least attempt to give me an explanation. And I’m betting it’s got something to do with those bruises you’ve been sporting for months.’

‘I told you, they’re from training.’

‘Sure they are. Like some women walk into doors.’

I stiffened. That was a little close to home. ‘What are you trying to suggest?’

‘I’m suggesting your life is in a downward spiral and unless you tell me differently I have to assume it’s all down to your drug use.’

‘I’m not using!’

He didn’t want to listen. Just lectured me once again about how me using could destroy The Raiders’ chances at the Premier League while I stared at the team motto written in old fashioned gold lettering above the windows behind his head.

Truth and Loyalty. Yeah, right. It was bad enough him thinking I was a drug cheat, that I’d willingly jeopardise the team, but once I told him the truth about my bruises I’d only see disgust. How could I look him in the eye and admit the truth? And how could I tell the man who had been like a big brother for the last ten years that I was going to betray him?

‘There’s a reason we follow the anti-doping rules. Don’t you know what could happen if you get sanctioned by UKAD?’

‘Of course I do.’ Did he think I was an idiot?

‘Christ. I can’t believe you’d be so selfish. I taught you better than this. Think of the lads. Think of your mother.’

My heart skipped a couple of beats. ‘Ma doesn’t need to know.’

‘She must have noticed you’ve been warming a bench since April. And you’re going to have to find a really good explanation for her as to why you’re in rehab for the next two months.’

Rehab? Two months! Was he serious?

‘Boss, kick-off is next weekend. If I miss two months, my whole season is gone. You may as well stick a knife in my chest, because that will kill my career.’ And if he sent me off to rehab how could I protect Kayleigh? How could I watch out for Garner and the club? ‘I don’t need rehab. It’s true there is a lot of shit going on in my life, but I’m not using. I’m not! Why can’t you believe in me the way you did when I was a kid?’

‘Because you’re not a kid now, mate. You’re a grown man with a girlfriend and a mortgage and a lot of lads who rely on you to keep up your end.’ His fingers tapped the arm of his chair. ‘Plenty of players have come back from a season off. You’re only, what? Twenty-four now? One season won’t end your career. So tell me why this means so much to you? It’s not just wanting to be in the Premiers, is it?’

If he wasn’t going to listen to me about not using, then I had to give him a truth he would understand: money.

‘Since I’m not playing, my sponsors are dropping off, and like you said, I’ve got a mortgage, an expensive girlfriend.’

‘You still earn enough to pay your mortgage. And your girlfriend must be on a decent wage with EastEnders and all her magazine covers, so tell her to pay her own bills.’

Thanks to Paulie and his schemes there was so much hanging over my head that asking Kayleigh to pay her own bills wasn’t going to solve them. If I didn’t hand over that list… Well, being broke would be the least of our worries.

No matter what happened, I had to get Kayleigh to LA. She’d be all right once filming started. She’d have a shot at the life she craved. Be safe from harm. For that I needed money.

I had to tell Garner something so that he’d understand. ‘I… I owe someone. Without the sponsorship money I can’t cover it.’

‘You want me to pay off your dealer?’

For a second I thought he was going to laugh, but he just stared at me, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Then his gaze softened. I glimpsed the younger bloke who’d stood watching me and my mates play that day on a scrubby patch of empty land.

‘Look, mate, tell me the truth,’ he said. ‘It can’t be worse than what I’m thinking right now.’

I stared out of the office windows that overlooked the manicured training ground that we’d all helped create. The little kids were showing off their skills for the camera. This club was their chance at a better future. Just like it had been for me. Ty Garner offered them that chance. How could I kill off all those dreams?

‘Do you know someone called Dimitri Poitrowski?’

Garner went utterly still. ‘Why?’

‘Do you know him?’

‘Whether I know him is immaterial to this discussion, Joey. Unless he’s your supplier.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m not a user.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Joey, it’s all there in your blood work. Why are we going around in circles on this? Do you think I want to see you throw your life away? After everything your mother did, after everything I did, the lads, all your training?’

Garner came out from behind his desk and put his hand on my shoulder, the way he used to when I was a kid and he’d started giving me pointers. He’d been my hero then. He was still a fit bastard. Hadn’t gone to seed like a lot of other ex-players his age. And maybe that was why I’d never noticed before that he’d aged. Grey peppered his stubble and though he kept his head shaved I could tell his hairline wasn’t as full as it had been.

‘Don’t think I’ve ever forgotten that time, Joe. You and your mates helped me get through a dark period.’ His grip tightened and that look he’d worn back then, what I now recognised as grief, flashed across his face. ‘I want to help you, Joe. First you have to admit you have a problem.’

I jerked my shoulder from his grasp. Fuck him and his false compassion.

Outside, the sunlight brightened the three manicured pitches. I had a bird’s-eye view of the kids practicing their drills and the lads chatting with the parents, saw the lights and cameras set up on the north field where the weather babe and her cameraman were deep in conversation. If Garner couldn’t solve my problem I had to find another way. I needed a different kind of leverage.

Don’t do it, man. She’ll chuck you to the wolves as soon as look at you. Do you think she wants to stay in weather her whole life?

Exactly. I was betting she didn’t, and if I gave her the means to get out she’d grasp it with both hands. Okay, a weather girl wasn’t my weapon of choice, but she’d have contacts, and it wasn’t like anyone would expect me to grass to a weather babe, was it? There were worse things than getting caught talking to Charlotte Ashe. She was hot. Not Kayleigh hot, but the way she looked at you with those big eyes, really looked, like she saw you, the real you, that was really something. Médard had been hot for her the minute she strolled across the field at dawn, all swaying hips and glossy dark hair

Think about the game, man, your career. Think about Garner. If he finds out you talked to the press…

If I didn’t do something everything was screwed anyway: Garner, the club, Kayleigh. Ah, shit. Kayleigh. The terror on her face when we heard those screams… I couldn’t live with that resting on my shoulders.

It was time for action. Time to stop sitting back and letting everyone dictate my life.

4

JOEY

Debden Park Training Grounds

Friday, July 28th

19 hours to live

It hadn’t been hard to convince Charlotte Ashe to meet with me in the old stands. Especially when I mentioned ‘exclusive’ and ‘proof’ and told her that my information would make her career, if she had the guts to go for it.

I’d chosen the old stands because we’d be out of sight of the state-of-the-art clubrooms. Safe from the prying eyes of all those hanging out watching the players and TVWE’s film crew taking over the pristine field of Debden Park, Laughton FC’s flash new training ground. I’d been betting on everyone being so star-struck by all the cameras and the lads running drills with the little kids that no one would miss the weather babe.

A lifetime passed while I paced. Then there she was. In the flesh. Bloody hell, she was a babe. I hadn’t appreciated that before, being as I was so mad at Garner and crapping myself at what I was about to do. For all my nervous surveillance, I hadn’t noticed her arrival. Jesus! Where was my head?

‘Did anyone see you come this way?’

‘Why? Do you think I was followed?’ She half-laughed, then saw I was serious and dropped the smile. ‘No, no one. As far as anyone knows I’m prepping for my next set.’

Her perfume scented the dewy air and with every breath her body hugging shirt moved in ways that made it hard to think.

‘You okay to talk?’ she asked.

‘No problem.’

Seriously! That’s what I said. No problem. As if I hadn’t been driving myself nuts with all the what ifs. What if Garner had seen us talking? What if he’d cottoned on to my plan? It wouldn’t take much, not after the way I lost it in his office. Waiting in the stands I’d had time to think it over, and thinking it over had me crapping myself all over again.

‘Shall we sit?’ she asked. ‘Less chance of being spotted by some casual observer.’

You can’t underestimate the power of a hot babe looking up at you, smiling like you’re the most important person in her world. My head screamed at me to run as far and as fast as I could, but when she moved past me to climb the stairs and I watched the sway of those hips in her skin-tight jeans, I followed her like she had me on a leash.

We reached the top of the stands and she sat, crossed those denim clad legs and patted the worn bench. ‘We’ve got about fifteen minutes before anyone comes looking for me.’

She’d already done two bits to camera: one with me and the lads in the background while she talked to Declan about our chances this season, and another with the little kids strutting their stuff on the still-frosty grass while I’d been losing my rag with Garner. After our little chat, I’d expected him to follow me out, keep an eye on me, and as club owner I’d assumed he’d want his moment in the spotlight. He had a wicked reputation as a media whore. So far, he hadn’t shown his face on the field.

‘I’ve got a bit of a surprise planned for the last piece,’ she said. ‘A bit of fun with the guys. You want in?’

Fun? As if I cared about that with all this crap on my plate. ‘Not exactly in the mood for fun, babe.’

Her smile didn’t shift, but her gaze sharpened. ‘Fair enough. How about you give me a quick briefing? We’ll see where we go from there.’

‘Briefing?’

‘Yeah, you know, a quick summary of your story and what you want to get out of talking to me.’

Shit was getting real, fast. How much could I tell her and still make sure she was interested enough to get me the money I needed? My leg twitched. My fingers tapped my thigh. It was the only way I could release all that tension. Charlotte Ashe took it all in with barely a flicker of her eyelashes, including my fading black eye the make-up girl had tried to hide. I waited for that tight-lipped judgement I’d got from Garner.

Instead, she smiled. ‘So, tell me, Joey. What’s on your mind?’

The rotting bench groaned as I planted my arse. Every Thursday night for years, Ma had sat on these hard planks knitting while she watched me practice. The stands had looked out over the field then, back when Tyrone Goal Kick Garner had been my hero. I’d copied his every move off the telly. Better than Beckham, he was. We’d been mates, of a sort. A connection born from a love of the game and my admiration. That was gone now. Just like these stands, our connection was part of the old ways, not suited to his new ideals.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘this isn’t revenge, or anything.’

‘Revenge?’

Underneath that big-eyed friendliness, Charlotte Ashe was sharp, full of ambition. I wished I’d never opened my big mouth.

In the cracks between the weathered boards of the stand wall I could just make out the clubrooms. Morning sun glinted off the centre window that stretched the full two storeys of the building and was shaped like a gothic arch. It always made me think of a church, and Ma. Was a time when all she’d wanted for me was a good life and to be happy. Now it was all The Lord this and The Lord that. If she wasn’t quoting scripture it was all about Pastor Tyrell and his everyday wisdoms.

On the field, the lads clustered around the camera dude, who was deep in some story that needed lots of arm movement for the telling. The little kids, who should have been getting ready for school, ran around the field kicking the ball, on a high after their starring roles. Well, I got that. It was good they’d got a chance to show what they could do, especially with their parents there, though to be honest most of the dads had probably turned up to ogle the weather babe. The mums probably did the same to the lads.

When I’d got started I hadn’t been much older than those kids. Difference between them and me was my ma could never have stood around watching or ogling. She was always working too hard to put food on the table. She’d sacrificed a lot for me. What would she think of the mess I’d made of my life? I’d never forgive myself if I brought danger to her door.

The weathered boards creaked as my legs jiggled, a nervous twitch I never seemed to get under control.

‘What’s troubling you, Joey? How can I help?’

The weather babe had her hand on my arm. She looked up at me with eyes that were bigger and greener than they looked on the telly. Next to mine her tanned skin looked pale. Her hands were small, her long fingers ending with short nails buffed to a shine. How could someone so… so feminine help me? For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to let go. Then she forced a smile and dropped her hand.

That was the moment I could have walked away, could’ve stayed silent. There’s nothing more seductive than a gorgeous babe willing to listen to your troubles, and the longer I stood there, the stronger the urge to spill my guts, right there in the old stands, while a reporter had her hand on the recording app of her phone. So, I talked. Bragged that I had proof.

Within twenty-four hours of that moment in the stands, my life was over.

5

CHARLOTTE

Elm Grove Care Facility

London

Friday, July 28th

Charlotte stepped through the sliding door and was immediately hit by the silence. It seemed to swallow the hum of traffic and dampen the birdsong, so absolute that for a moment she stood there, not daring to move or speak or breathe.

‘Please use the hand sanitiser, miss. Our guests are very vulnerable to infections.’ A small woman with a silver cap of hair and a gentle smile stood near a light-timbered reception desk, indicating a large dispenser fixed to the wall behind Charlotte.

Hand sanitiser. Infection. Oh God, this was too real.

Since she’d left Manchester, she and Maddie had made the point to catch up every other month, usually in a flash London bar where they could ogle the talent while they swapped war stories. Although Maddie’s stories were real, all about her time as a foreign correspondent, whereas Charlotte’s were…well…not much better than gossip.

Charlotte rubbed the glob of sanitiser into her hands. ‘I’m here to see Maddie Alderton.’

‘Do you know the way?’ Another gentle smile.

If she admitted that she didn’t, would that somehow suggest she hadn’t cared enough to visit before now? ‘She’s just been…’ she didn’t know the right term… ‘admitted.’

‘Checked-in. We prefer to think of this like a hotel not a hospital.’ Another smile, this time just a touch patronising.

Charlotte was beginning to despise that bloody smile. God, if she ever found herself in Maddie’s situation she was taking a long walk into deep water. Shit, now she was thinking about death. She couldn’t visit Maddie with her emotions so close to the surface, couldn’t let her know that this was hard for her. It wasn’t her who was sick. It wasn’t her facing that final and not so gentle goodnight. Outside a weak sun shone, birds sang, people went about their daily lives. It would be so easy to turn around…

‘I’m Sal, dear. I’ll show you to Maddie’s room.’

Charlotte took a breath and followed Sal deeper into the building. The corridor was all twists and turns, the pale mauve walls decorated with children’s drawings, bright abstracts in crayon dedicated to Gran or Sis or Mum.

Come on, she could do this. It was Maddie, for Christ’s sake. Maddie who’d smoked and sworn and laughed her way through a life lived large and loud. A life that had saved Charlotte from her own self-destruction.

‘First time to a hospice, love?’ Sal smiled over her shoulder.

‘Y-yes.’

‘It’s a nice place. A kind place. Your friend is safe with us.’

Safe? When death hovered over every room?

Sal turned another corner and then knocked on a partially opened door. ‘Visitor for you. Are you at home?’

‘Where the bloody hell else would I be?’ Maddie’s phlegmy laughter filled the corridor.

Good old Mads. Not giving into the dignified hush of the place. Charlotte entered the room grinning. ‘Look at you, slacker. Feet up. TV on.’

‘Fuck off, great Aussie prat.’

The two of them laughed and Sal, her cheeks rosy though her gentle smile never slipped, beat a dignified retreat.

Maddie winked. ‘Think that did the trick. Too sweet by half, that woman.’

‘How are you Mads?’

‘Doing a good line in Camille.’ Maddie collapsed against the pillows, one hand at her forehead, her eyes closed. ‘What do you think? Am I pulling it off?’

It was far too convincing. Since Charlotte had last seen her—only last week over dishwater tea at the hospital cafeteria—her skin had taken on a yellow tinge and the lines around her mouth and eyes looked deeper. Grey roots and illness dulled her bright blonde hair, though it was still styled in her trademark sweeping waves.

Charlotte forced a laugh. ‘Always were a ham, Maddie.’

‘Too bloody right. Gotta beat your drum loud and proud and let the bastards know you exist. Didn’t I always say life’s too short to hang back? Turns out I was right.’

There were those emotions again, pressing at her eyelids and threatening to spill down her cheeks. Maddie would hate that. ‘Are you sure you’re happy here, Maddie? Wouldn’t you rather be at home? I can take some leave, look after you.’

‘You are meant for greater things, Char. Don’t waste your youth on an old woman like me.’ Maddie’s laugh didn’t fool either of them as she looked toward her tiny window, where a waterfall of lilac blooms provided a soft splash of colour. ‘At least the wisteria is thriving.’

Charlotte took hold of Maddie’s cold hand, smoothing the veins that were more prominent than they had been a week ago. ‘I’m serious. You’ve always lived life on your terms, wouldn’t you like to…’ She couldn’t finish that sentence. As terrible as it would be to watch Maddie deteriorate, she owed her so much she could suck it up for the time she had left.

Maddie patted her hand. ‘I have, sweetheart. And now I am going out on my terms.

From a room beyond came the sound of a child’s stifled crying. Just like the children’s drawings displayed on the walls, it was another slap of reality.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to try the chemo option?’

‘I’ve been through that once. It got me another nine years, and for that I’ll always be grateful, but I am not putting myself through it again.’

If not for that radical treatment and Maddie’s recovery they never would have met. Maddie had been far too high a flyer to be bothered with a lowly cub reporter sporting a half-finished media degree and a chip on her shoulder as big as her ambitions. ‘I’m grateful for those years too, Mads, but—’

‘Now, now, what have I told you about ‘but’?’

‘Everything before but is bullshit.’ Charlotte grinned at the memory. ‘I am grateful.’

Maddie shifted and played with the plastic hospital band on her wrist. ‘I never told